


star.

by artificialmeggie (ohmymeggs)



Series: blood and honey [15]
Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, the origin story of Brooke's star tattoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 07:07:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20111128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmymeggs/pseuds/artificialmeggie
Summary: Vanjie’s always been better at words than Brooke. It’s natural, a part of him just as much as his brown eyes or tan skin. Take the way he throws shade and rattles off quips and nicknames. Brooke’s already lost count of how many have been bestowed upon him. “Twinkletoes” is the latest.





	star.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you formercongressman and theartificialdane for reminding me of facts and beanierose and multifandomgeek for betaing. Fic takes a village, and I undoubtedly have the best one.
> 
> Please remember that I don't actually know these people, and that I'm essentially playing in a sandbox. (It's fiction, Brenda.)

They meet in Chicago at the beginning of August, two weeks after _Drag Race_ is over and a week after they saw each other last.

They spent the entire first week after filming wrapped in an L.A. hotel room, finally _finally_ together the way they’d been denied during filming—kissing and fucking and talking and ordering up room service and even, every night, going on actual real-life dates to restaurants and ice cream parlors and cupcake shops. 

Vanessa says it first on the first night they’re in Chicago, and that’s where it all starts. Brooke’s just fucked him into the mattress after they meet at the airport and spend their Uber ride groping each other (they left their driver five stars and a sizeable tip, so it’s fine; they don’t feel too bad about it). Vanessa’s skin is slick with perspiration, and they’re both still panting as they lie next to each other, wry smiles playing on their lips as they stare into each other’s eyes. Brooke doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of this, doesn’t know how he could ever get tired of someone looking at him the way Vanessa does. 

Then Vanjie’s grin bursts into a full-blown smile and color blooms pink on his cheeks and he looks at Brooke like he has a secret. 

“What?” Brooke says.

But Vanjie ducks his head, still grinning. “Nothin’. It’s nothin’. Just kiss me, Twinkletoes.”

He does, but he isn’t dropping it. “I don’t believe that for a second. What is it?” Brooke’s smiling now too because Vanessa’s joy is contagious; his light spreads into Brooke’s very core, warms him up from the inside out. 

“I just…” He rubs his face, leaves a speck of gold glitter by his eye. Brooke finds glitter everywhere now—in his suitcase, in his shoes, pressed into the lines of his palm—he thinks it must come from Vanessa’s fingertips. He loves it. “This sounds fucking crazy, okay, I fully get that, but…”

A sigh.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Brooke huffs out a breath. His feelings for Vanjie are real, he knows that. And he’s read enough to know that science says you’ll know whether or not it’s love by the time you’ve been with someone for six weeks. They passed that mark during filming. So he has a decision to make… and, honestly, Brooke’s never been great at making decisions. He’s an over-thinker, an over-planner. It’s a… whole thing. 

“See?” Vanessa laughs a little, but it’s humorless. It falls flat in the muted browns and oranges of the hotel room walls as he shifts his weight in bed, rolls away from Brooke to get up. “Told you it was crazy.”

“No,” Brooke says suddenly, reaching out for Vanjie’s hand, wrist, neck… anything he can anchor to, hold tight to in an effort to keep him at his side. “It’s not crazy. I… just…”

Vanessa shakes his head. “You don’t have to say it.”

Brooke shrugs. “You know how I feel, though, baby. Don’t you?”

Vanjie’s always been better at words than Brooke. It’s natural, a part of him just as much as his brown eyes or tan skin. Take the way he throws shade and rattles off quips and nicknames. Brooke’s already lost count of how many have been bestowed upon him. “Twinkletoes” is the latest (and probably Brooke’s favorite, if he’s being honest). It’s half-joke, half-read. 

Brooke has awful feet—it’s a dance thing. He’s lost his big toenails more times than he can count. He’s broken toes. He’s fought blisters and calluses and tried every tape and padding in the book, and they help, but nothing totally alleviates the pain, the stress. His toes are ugly, the bones warped and twisted from years of supporting his weight. He’ll never be a foot model (he’s made his peace with it), but he is a successful professional drag queen who still gets to dance for a living at 32. It’s a fair trade.

So maybe he has disgusting feet, and maybe Vanjie likes to tease him about it, but he knows it’s light-hearted. His nickname makes him blush a little. Makes him feel like this thing of which he’s always been so ashamed (_because no matter how hard he tries he’ll never be perfect_) doesn’t bother Vanessa so much that he can’t still love him.

_Vanessa loves him._

Brooke becomes fully aware he’s been silent for far too long to maintain their delicate comfort with those three words suspended in the air. He clears his throat. 

“You know? Right?”

Vanjie nods and smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sure thing.” 

So Brooke kisses him deep, winds his hand between his legs, strokes him until he’s hard. Then presses wet kisses down his torso, flicks each nipple and circles his navel with his tongue before sucking him fully into his mouth.

So what if Brooke can’t _say_ it? With Vanessa’s fingers twisting in his hair and his breath whistling through his teeth as he gasps, Brooke can _feel _it. That’s all that matters. Right? It’s about actions. It’s about intent. 

Vanessa doesn’t need to hear it. Brooke goes out of his way to _show_ his love every day. 

That’s gotta be enough.

  
  


* * *

The next day feels… Weird. Vanjie is subdued, quiet, even, despite Brooke’s efforts to turn them back into what they’ve been. 

They hang out with Steve. They shop. They visit the Bean and Lake Michigan, take cheesy tourist photos, introduce Vanjie to deep-dish pizza; but in the back of Brooke’s mind, he can’t shake the feeling that something shifted between them last night in a way for which he’s solely responsible.

So they bid Steve farewell after dinner and walk back to the hotel hand-in-hand down the street lamp lined sidewalk in the humid night air. 

Brooke clears his throat. “So about last night…”

“Yeah…” Vanessa barks out a laugh, waves it off. “You know, don’t worry ‘bout it, baby. I shouldn’t’ve said nothing.”

They take a few steps in silence, then Brooke draws in a deep breath. “It’s not that. You know I can’t do words like you.”

“Bitch, I know. I’m the most eloguent bitch around.” Vanessa deflects when he’s uncomfortable or embarrassed. Brooke can relate. But just like so many other things, Vanessa uses words while Brooke relies on other means. Words just don’t come easily for him. 

They stop, and Brooke reaches for Vanjie’s other hand. Takes it tightly in his own, pulls it to his chest. “You _do_ know how I feel about you, right? Even if I can’t say it yet. You know... Right?”

Vanessa smiles at him, brighter than last night, but still sadder than Brooke wants to see, and tiptoes up to kiss him. “Of course, Toes. I know.”

They resume their walk, and a brightly lit neon sign a few doors down catches Brooke’s eye. 

It’s about action. It’s about intent. And maybe he can’t do words, has never been able to do words. But he always finds something else. 

* * *

“Bitch, you are crazy,” Vanjie says later that night when Brooke unwraps the bandage from his foot. “I still can’t believe you did that shit.”

Brooke shrugs, eyeing his newest tattoo—the blue outline of a star on the big toe of his right foot. Twinkle. He’d let Vanessa choose the color; imagine his surprise when it hadn’t come out red or orange. 

“Guess I thought it might make my feet prettier.” 

“Only thing making those feet prettier is amputation,” Vanessa quips effortlessly. Words come so easily to him. Brooke wishes he had an ounce of that. “But I guess it doesn’t hurt.”

“Do _you_ like it?” Brooke asks quietly after a moment, waiting for Vanessa’s answer with bated breath. 

Vanjie scoffs. “You’re the one that has to live with it for the rest of your damn life.”

“It’s for you. It’s… You know.” Brooke sighs. “Just because I can’t say it yet doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

Vanjie braces himself against the headboard and leans in, kisses Brooke deeply, moans into his mouth at Brooke’s favorite decibel. When he pulls away (far too soon for Brooke’s taste), he rests their foreheads together.

“You know…” he says quietly. “Words are a lot less permanent.”

Brooke chuckles. “True. But they hurt a lot more.”

Vanjie climbs into Brooke’s lap, drapes his arms around his neck, places careful kisses around his jaw. 

“Maybe you’re right, Toes.”

Brooke thinks a small amount of ink on his foot to remind him of the first man he’s ever really loved is a small price to pay if it makes him remember feeling this way every time he sees it. 

Vanessa etched into his skin.

Vanessa etched into his soul. 

**Author's Note:**

> "blood and honey" is a series of (mostly) unrelated drabbles and one-shots of assorted characters and ships based on a table of prompts from LiveJournal. The table can be found over on my Tumblr @artificialmeggie. I welcome your thoughts and take requests here or there. Thank you!


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